I stared at the groundbeef patties just out of the oven, their edges charred, and could hardly believe what I heard.
Youre expired. I want a divorce,my husband announced, pushing his plate away. He said it as casually as if he were mentioning another hike in gasoline prices. I froze, wooden spatula clenched in my hand. The cactus perched on the windowsill tilted its twisted spine upward, as if to confirm: Its over for you. Im fortyseven, and André and I have spent twenty years together. Our son, Antoine, has been studying in another city for a while, and the mortgage on our tworoom flat is almost paid off. And suddenly, Im expired.
Everything around me seemed frozen like a blackandwhite frame from an old TV show. I stared at the burnt burgers, wondering whether I could still salvage the charred part or if it was already too late. Its odd how the mind latches onto details when something truly terrifying occurs.
### Routine, the erosion of a relationship
Since spring a tense silence has settled over the house. André comes home late from work, and on weekends he drowns himself in reports his new boss gave him. I, meanwhile, lose myself in office life: crunching numbers, sorting piles of paperwork, and at night I pet our cat, Minette. Our conversations are reduced to Pick up milk, Put money on the card, Who does the dishes today? A sticky fatigue has built a high wall between us.
Antoine, nineteen, lives in a student residence in another city, and we see each other rarely. Occasionally he calls asking for money. During last summers holidays he visited, and we thought about a countryside barbecue, but it never happenedeither the weather turned bad or André was too tired. I already felt we were more neighbors than spouses.
Then, yesterday, the final verdict landed: Youre expired.
### Catalyst and a growing conflict
The idea of divorce had been a growing shadow for a while. A few weeks ago the kitchen sink clogged, and I called a plumber. Suddenly André said, Thats a mans job, stay out of it. Why would he say that? He never does anything like that in the evenings. Yet he blamed me for not waiting, as if proving my incapacity mattered to him.
Later, our neighbor, Aunt Géraldine, asked us in the stairwell, André, Nadine, are you going to celebrate your wedding anniversary soon? My husband and I exchanged puzzled looksthe anniversary had passed a month ago. Wed both forgotten. She looked at us with sympathy, already sensing our misery.
I didnt expect such bluntness:
Divorce? Really?
Really,my husband replied without meeting my eyes. Im tired. This has gone on too long.
### Trying to understand and adapt
I spent the night on our old couch, the one where I usually watch my series. Minette, sensing my mood, purred softly at my feet. I barely heard Andréhe had shut himself in the bedroom. In the morning, almost on autopilot, I set the coffee maker and, staring at the tilted pot that held the cactus, thought, The poor thing wont survive either. Its been in a corner, not flowering for years. It once bloomed, but only once.
I wanted to start an honest talk with my husband, but I lacked the strength. I went to work, trying to keep up appearances. At the office, stacks of gray files, colleagues distractedly playing Sudoku at lunch I couldnt focus. A thought kept hammering me: Am I like an expired product?
Later that day I called my son:
Antoine, its Mom well, dad decided to ask for a divorce.
After a pause, he replied:
Mom, Ive felt there was a problem between you for a while. If it becomes unbearable, Ill support you, his voice was calm, almost apologetic. Dont let him humiliate you, okay?
I heard his worry. On one hand, hes grown; on the other, he has only one family and suddenly everything is collapsing.
### Motherinlaws intervention
The next day my motherinlaw called herself. Usually she asks about the pigeons on our balcony, but this time she went straight to the point:
Divorce? André mentioned it to me. How can you abandon your family at that age?!
I stammered:
Im not the one who started it.
So you didnt see it, didnt take care of him. Youre not children any more, Nadia. André will be fortyeight soon! You should have tended to his peace, but you were too absorbed in work and reports.
I nearly exploded, feeling blamed for everything, not feminine enough. I held back: arguing would be useless. She now lives in a village, spends her days gardening with her younger sister and nieces grandchildren, knows our relationship only from occasional calls, yet she still blames the daughterinlaw.
### Conversation over the kitchen table
On Saturday we finally spoke like adults. He emerged from the bathroom, poorly shaved and scowling, and sat opposite me at the kitchen table. On the wall hung an old cuckoo clock inherited from my grandmotherits bird had been silent for five years, symbolically as if time had stopped for our family.
I wont change my mind,he said softly, pushing his tea cup away. Im tired, Nadia. Feelings are irrelevant now. This apartment isnt worth binding us. You can stay here. Im not demanding a quick sale, but I want half its value. Ill find something else for myself, maybe rent a place, and see what happens.
I looked at the chipped table, the faded checkered vinyl tablecloth, and listened to his almost businesslike monologue. After twenty years together, sadness overwhelmed me to the point of tears, even though I felt ashamed to cry in front of him.
I understand,I replied, trying not to let my voice betray me. If its divorce, then its divorce.
Silence fell. A strange relief washed over me, as if a heavy backpack had been taken off. Yes, facing my forties alone is frightening, but living in a situation where no one needs anyone is even scarier.
### Returning to my mother
The next morning I went to my mothers place. She lives in an old building with creaking elevators, which always makes me uneasy. She opened the door, saw my reddened eyes, hugged me immediately, and led me to the kitchen. Everything was familiar: the dark pantry full of oldstyle pots, a stack of enamel bowls, my grandmothers kitchen stool.
Maybe you can reconcile?my mother asked, pouring tea into a floral cup from the 90s. Your father and I were close to divorce, but people of our generation held on.
And André I wanted to say something sensible, but I found no words.
Outside, the chipped walls of the opposite entrance were framed by a lilac that always looked miserable in winter, yet burst into abundant bloom each spring. Maybe everything can bloom again, I thought briefly. Yet I was already unsure about reviving what had died between André and me.
### The cactus and its bud
Back in our nearly empty flatAndré had already taken a few belongings and moved in with a friend, likely looking for a place nearer his workI walked around and stopped at the windowsill: my poor cactus leaned slightly outward. Suddenly I noticed a tiny white bud on one of its spines, barely visible. I blinked: Am I crazy? It hasnt flowered in five years
A mixed feeling swept through me: sadness and a faint, delicate joy, as if nature wanted to show that even a forgotten, gloomy cactus can surprise when the time is right.
I turned on the radiotalk of rising utility prices and exchange rates. It was amusing that a tiny bud worried me less than the news. Perhaps its these small details that keep us afloat.
### Talk with my son and new plans
Two days later Antoine called:
Mom, dad told me he left. Is everything okay?
Yes,I replied. Well, not exactly, but Im not sure how to live now. Ill have to manage the flat, work
I promise I wont fail my exams. If needed, I can come back during summer holidays to help you move.
Thank you, son,his words warmed my heart. But dont neglect your studies.
Hearing his calm, caring voice made me realize things werent all black. I have an adult son ready to help, a mothereven if we disagreeand, most importantly, I remain myselfa person who can start over.
### Cautious optimism
Fifteen days passed. I took an unexpected leave to sort paperwork, handle the division, and, most of all, clear my thoughts. Minette watched in amazement as I finally cleaned the windows and repotted the cactus into a new pot. Yes, I decided to replant it because it had finally bloomed. A small gesture, but it pleased me.
That morning, while checking the mail, an unexpected surge of energy hit me. I remembered once dreaming of learning to drive. Maybe now is the time? I could sign up for yoga, remodel my mothers countryside house, perhaps repaint the old shed.
Sipping strong coffee in the kitchen, I admired the cactuss white, delicately veined flowerlike a childs ornament on an old Christmas tree. I struggled to keep a smile hidden. I never imagined such a tiny detail could inspire so much hope.
There will still be hard moments: the divorce, legal procedures, splitting the flat, my motherinlaws sideways glances, explanations to friends and family. But I am no longer expired. Im simply someone emerging from an endless winter toward a new spring.
A few days later, Aunt Géraldine stopped me by the elevator:
Nadine, where are you off to so early?
I signed up for driving lessons,I said with a smile.
Good for you,she replied, eyes twinkling. Just dont be afraid of yourself.
And there I am, crossing the courtyard toward the bus stop, listing todays tasks. Above, the sky is gray, a light rain falls, but inside me a bird singssomething alive, ready for change. Perhaps this is my new bloom. It isnt a flamboyant rose, but its authentic, like the white flower of an old cactus finally opening.
If the cactus could do itwhy couldnt I start anew?
How a Husband’s Comment on the Expiry Date Changed the Life of a 47-Year-Old Woman.
